


A IS FOR ATOM: Xavier

by SILKCUT



Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [17]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Inscribed by SILKCUT, Struggles of a Telepath, Twitter Solo Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29077464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SILKCUT/pseuds/SILKCUT
Summary: Charles ignored his own history of pain for a moment and instead intimately examined the people here at the burial. And as he looked into the core of their unhappiness, he also started to read unfinished poetry in the veins; in the gaps that don’t always make sense; in the soft marrow of places within each person where everything is fluid and aching to be touched and known. It occurred to Charles that everyone hurts more than they care to admit, and how they can die within the quiet of their own gloom, often unheard and hopelessly unloved, as all the right words get lost in their heartaches.
Series: ɪɴꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱɪʟᴋᴄᴜᴛ [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132040





	A IS FOR ATOM: Xavier

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Ｃｈａｒｌｅｓ Ｆｒａｎｃｉｓ Ｘａｖｉｅｒ

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## Ａ ｉｓ ｆｏｒ ＡＴＯＭ: Xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ

##  **༻✧**

Charles looked at death during a drizzling afternoon in Westchester County and—for the most part—was left feeling rather unfazed.

It was almost like he couldn’t be bothered with the ceremony of it all. A dull sort of complacency lacking any usual traces of grief remained etched on his features while the men lowered the coffin on the ground.

His mother had chosen a costly oak coffin to bury her husband in, and its smooth surface gleamed ever pristine against the raindrops and dirt. Something about the way the wet soil clung to the edges of the coffin as it slid down made Charles feel like washing his own hands; like he wanted to be clean.

He focused on that insignificant urge at the moment because it did wonders to keep his mind preoccupied, helping him to ignore the dozens of other people behind them to witness this burial. They were loud inside their cages no matter the deception of their shared, outward silence. And Charles simply didn’t want any of their stories for there was no more room in his already cluttered mind.

It's hard to be surrounded by living beings everywhere and know who they are without the need for conversation. The ocean of their innermost thoughts persisted in its vastness, and the stronger the waves, the more vexing it was for Charles to swim the currents. He figured out so early on that people were uncharted waters dipped in their own unique tales of horror and hope, and that there had been many times when he drowned and discovered what else could lurk under the seas.

Telepathy almost drove him insane this way. Odd hours of being under its spell would even render him useless for a day or two. Sharon, his mother, did everything to keep his ‘affliction’ under lock and key, going so far as to have him home-schooled last year while she made a few specialists prescribe him medications that’ll keep him sedated.

The only reason she hasn’t had him institutionalized was because it would bring scandal and besmirch the Xavier name. But given the extremes she often went through to delay the growth of his powers, she might as well have already isolated him from the world.

He willed himself to focus again on the consoling quiet of the dead man at his feet. It was better than dwelling on his impoverished relationship with Sharon.

Meanwhile, the elderly priest stood across from the flock of guests, droning on and on about some holy scripture.

The boy paid close attention to the words uttered until a polite, half-smile crossed his lips. Charles thought that the passage about finding peace didn’t suit the dead man in question, for his stepfather was anything but a pacifist.

In fact, Charles was relieved—maybe even joyous—that he’s dead.

  


## ➷

Water poured down in droplets from the sky, cascading across the tops of black umbrellas that had gathered around like a clump of mushrooms above the open grave. Charles and his mother shared a red umbrella between themselves. Its shade was a blotch of something angry standing out amongst the dark.

The Xaviers looked like an odd pair indeed, with the mother half-scowling as if staying next to her son was the last thing she wanted to do. The boy knew, even without the aid of telepathy, that this was true. Sharon had mistrusted her own child ever since he used his powers unwittingly on her that day.

But he was only five then, though it made little difference to his mother.

A few people were throwing flowers and soil over the casket by now, and all that Charles could do was to wait for Sharon to do something—anything—so she could have the proper goodbye she had always deserved. He didn’t have to look at her to know precisely what she felt.

The emotion thrummed alive in her very fingers that clutched the umbrella's handle, especially since Charles' own were wrapped around a spot just mere inches below hers. Hours ago, he had resigned himself to close all channels in his mind before he went to this funeral. The buzzing hive of feigned sentiments or heartfelt condolences of those who came here would only distract him from his own private thoughts, and so he put enough blocks in his mind to quiet down his telepathy.

The same practice could not be applied with his mother, of course. The woman next to him looked older than her thirty-plus years, and her lips slightly quivered whilst those arctic blue eyes stared disbelievingly down the casket. It wasn’t just a sense of duty which made him want to seek a way to reach her out of her own grief, but more so because of a desperation to make said woman aware that he was just there. In spite of the terrible mistakes that had happened in the past, all that mattered in this moment was that he was still her son, and they need each other.

Tentatively, he let his fingers brush against her knuckles as if to remind her of this singular truth. It was only after a full minute of silence when Sharon acknowledged the boy for the first time today.

Her gaze shifted to his hand now resting above hers on the umbrella's handle. She whispered to him, “Oh, Francis...”

(She had always called him with his second name, but not nearly out of affection as he would like.)

The young boy may have been holding his breath as he anticipated for the outpour of her emotions to wash over him. And he would be their beaker and eagerly store them all inside him if it meant lessening their dangerous weight upon his mother’s soul. So he stood there in all his eleven years, ever brave and hopeful, as he waited for Sharon to finally open up herself to him.

But instead, she rebuffed him yet again with another cold, harsh stare. She then slid her hand a few more inches above the handle and away from his grasp as she said, “What did I tell you about touching me?”

When that wasn’t enough, she gritted her teeth and added in haste, “And you better have closed your mind, Francis…” she trailed off and glanced over her shoulder before glaring back at him, “…these are respectable people. I will not have you inflict them with your…”

A narrowing of her eyes suggested she was struggling with the word to use that will not only describe his ‘affliction’ but also convey her aversion against it. At last she settled with: “...freakishness.”

And that’s how the woman who birthed Charles and should have loved him unconditionally further became a stranger.

## ➷

Charles supposed there was strength in how he endured all these years.

Isolation can do a lot of things to a child especially one who happened to be so gifted yet with no means to showcase his talents to anyone willing to spare him the time.

But in those early years, Charles was never even made to feel as if his exceptionality was a positive thing. Rather, it was something to be horrified of and hide from the world. The worst part was that he believed he was indeed ‘cursed’.

He could still recall vividly the first time his telepathy manifested itself. It was the night after Brian Xavier, his father, met his fate in a brutal accident inside the nuclear lab facility he worked in. Charles remembered waking up from a horrible dream when he heard the sirens blaring outside the mansion. Somehow he knew that something awful happened to his father. There was a sensation in his mind that felt empty, akin to losing a limb; a live part of you that can never be put back in ever again.

Sharon was inconsolable for days after she had to identify the charred remains of her husband’s body. Charles was fraught too, having to witness the woman he loves suffer so much during what he learned was the bereavement period. The widow then turned towards drink and dabbled in ill-advised company since there was nothing else to do but fall apart, and her son—through the beginnings of his telepathy at a tender age—experienced it with her tenfold.

A week later, he reached out and spoke to her with his mind while she had been making him pancakes that morning. (Charles would forever cherish that memory as the last time his mother would do anything remotely maternal for him.) The result was bad; it was like she was drowned in a tub full of ice. That’s the sensation he picked up once their minds connected. It was genuinely the most terrifying thing both of them experienced.

And Sharon—despairing, small-minded and helpless Sharon—approached her son where he sat on a stool facing the table. Without a word, she hit him as hard as she could. The blow to his cheek sent him falling out of his chair. He was too shocked to react. After all, Charles was still embedded in his mother's mind and has never felt such a powerful concoction of confusion, rage and fear from an adult until that moment. So, he did what any five-year-old would do; he folded into a fetus position and sobbed without disturbing the parent who put him down there.

Soon, he’ll learn a few tricks to connect with the minds of others without their knowledge. But even with the mastery of such an ability, the boy will keep on feeling more alone than ever.

Back at the burial, a guest has approached Charles and his mother. He recognized her as one of the investors who had supported his father’s project before his untimely death. As this woman whispered something into his mother’s ear, he listened in using a mild burst of his telepathy.

The woman mentioned something about a conference in two days. What could be so pressing that it couldn’t wait before this burial wraps up? Charles didn’t like the fact his mother was being pulled away to yet another business-related meeting. But what if it has nothing to do with business?

What if Sharon has been abusing more than the occasional martini or scotch?

Should he skim this other woman's thoughts just to see what she could be hiding? Everyone has something to hide—a shameful secret, a haunting regret or some small crime they perceive larger than it truly was. Whatever it is, Charles can retrieve it so easily like he's only picking a word from a dictionary before filing it away for posterity.

He was going to attempt the same thing now, but got distracted when Sharon adjusted the umbrella so that she was covered under it more fully, which then left a hefty portion of Charles' left side to get drenched by the rain. His stepbrother Cain (who was driven here in a second car with a maid from the household), saw this as an opportunity to squeeze himself between Charles and Sharon all of a sudden. He half-shoved the boy away so he can say something to their mother.

Sharon was actually smiling kindly at Cain as she reached to pet his hair. On cue, the other boy wrapped his pudgy arms around her waist and buried his face on her diaphragm. Charles knew that his sobs were not as genuine as everyone else was led to believe, including the clueless Sharon herself.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Don’t cry now,” the woman cooed. Her palm rubbed across the other boy's back. She acted as if Cain had been her real son all this time while Charles stood there just a foot away. He was now completely soaked, but nobody else in the funeral offered an umbrella or spared him a moment's notice. They were all either saying their prayers for the dearly departed or chatting in low voices about what happens to the Xaviers and their large estate, and if Sharon ever intends to marry for the third time.

He didn’t know whether it was the hypocrisy of the occasion or his mother’s blatant rejection, but it was nonetheless the final straw that pushed him too far. Charles chose not to retreat back into that sanctuary he created within the confines of his curse like so many times before. His eyes—the same color as her own yet much warmer—hardened all at once. Without uttering a word, he shifted his weight on one foot and dug the heel into the wet soil.

As he did so, anyone within a ten-feet radius (save for his mother and Cain) unravelled as if their thoughts were nothing more than pages viciously torn off from a book. Charles not only read and memorized the shameful secrets of the words they do not speak aloud but also implanted a few depressing insights of his own to poison their subconscious.

It had been so easy to do it because he felt more than justified to make everyone feel the way he had felt all these years. Charles was so lonely and different after all, and so battered and neglected in various ways. His stepbrother was no better. A quick survey of said kid's mind revealed that he has new, nefarious plans awaiting Charles at home. There wouldn’t be a more befitting way for Cain to honor his father’s legacy, he supposed.

Everyone in the funeral would have left feeling as if an important part of what made them who they are was gone forever, but at the last second Charles caught himself. His eyes traveled back to the coffin now being buried below a heap of mud and dirt. And with a startling clarity, he remembered how he learned of the true nature of violence through the man he once believed was family—and how much he didn’t want to become like Kurt Marko.

He knew he had to repair the damage he had spread among the funeral guests soon. And so, with a quiet prayer in his heart, the young telepath reached forward and cupped these people's minds so he could go inside them further. He was cautious about it, for human minds are delicate vessels that contain not only memories and random thoughts, but also everything else that makes people extraordinary.

Charles ignored his own history of pain for a moment and instead intimately examined the people here at the burial. And as he looked into the core of their unhappiness, he also started to read unfinished poetry in the veins; in the gaps that don’t always make sense; in the soft marrow of places within each person where everything is fluid and aching to be touched and known. It occurred to Charles that everyone hurts more than they care to admit, and how they can die within the quiet of their own gloom, often unheard and hopelessly unloved, as all the right words get lost in their heartaches.

It was too much for a young boy of eleven to understand that day, and he almost fell on his knees right there on his stepfather’s grave. His resoluteness to conceal the raging storms inside him was the only thing that kept him upright, but it was more than apparent that he was changed from knowing such truths.

Questions began to flood his senses: Are all people such damaged goods, with some even worse than I am? Is this why I can read minds? Can I alone heal the wounds that no medicine or other cure can?

For the first time, he learned exactly what it meant to have powers like this--

—and what it would mean for the safety of the people around him if he ever lost control of them.

## ➷

Kurt Marko hasn’t even been buried for two hours when Sharon decided she needed to go to a casino out of the city and leave her two children with the maids. When she does things like this without any warning, Sharon doesn’t even say goodbye to Charles and would simply leave instructions for the help while she’s gone for God only knows how long this time.

Sharon did, however, visit her stepson to give him a kiss on the forehead and say, “Look after yourself. And Francis, of course. Make sure that boy doesn’t get into trouble. You know how he gets.”

Right, Charles was standing by the hallway when he heard this exchange, as if I was the troublemaker to begin with.

His mother walked towards the direction where Charles was and for that, their eyes met briefly yet it lacked any kind of familiar warmth. Sharon merely pursed her lips and blinked. The boy knew it was still expected of him to be respectful so he muttered, “Have a safe trip, mother.”

“Thank you, Francis,” she returned the sentiment with the same polite coldness.

And just like that she was gone.

Charles had to give Cain some credit today. He didn’t bother him for the rest of the evening at all. Usually, his stepbrother would taunt him with comments regarding anything he deemed worth criticizing about the smaller boy. But perhaps he felt the need to respect his father's burial earlier by leaving Charles alone, at least for now.

Still, when Cain didn’t come down for dinner at all and refused to eat the food which was even brought to his own room, Charles knew that there must be something wrong.

Rationally, he knew that in spite of his stepbrother’s many flaws that Cain was just a young boy of twelve himself, and losing a parent in that age would hurt especially when you’re stuck with no one else inside this large estate, save the help, who frankly never cared about either children aside from making sure they stay alive long enough to get their pay checks from the Xavier matriarch.

Charles knew he might regret this, but against his better judgment, he decided to open a channel between himself and Cain. He was worried for the other boy. After all, who else would they have except each other in this parentless reality they share?

Slipping inside someone else's mind was truly a delicate process. Charles didn’t do it often because having other people aside from his family find out about it would be dangerous. When Sharon told Kurt and Cain about it two years ago, they at first thought it was a joke or a shared delusion between the widow and her sickly son. But then Sharon asked Charles to demonstrate his abilities to squash any reasonable doubt. Nothing had been the same since. Cain looked at him with fear and disgust and would get the other children from school to pick on Charles until no one else would talk to him, while Kurt…

He had convinced Sharon that her son needed ‘disciplinary reinforcement' to make sure that Charles will never misuse his ‘power’ on anyone. And so once every two weeks, Kurt would sit with Charles and ask him things to gauge the extent of his abilities. This included making the boy spy on the thoughts of certain people Kurt wanted information about without resorting to any other means.

It started harmless enough, and Charles actually began to look forward to these exercises. They gave him an opportunity to hone his telepathy which he believed for a long time was a burden and the one to blame for his mother’s neglect and antipathy. Kurt, for a time, provided Charles a means to escape the suffocating confines of the mansion and sift through the minds of others who live more fulfilling lives—who love and hurt and dream and aspire.

Through these strangers he discovered other things his sheltered upbringing had failed to teach him. In telepathy he found an anchor. It helped him live vicariously through people’s experiences; people he will never meet yet have nevertheless known intimately.

But three months into these exercises, Kurt had become greedy and overconfident that he could manipulate the boy into using his telepathy without Charles ever questioning his authority.

It all boiled over when a young woman working as a lab assistant in another nuclear facility owned by the Xaviers had the misfortune of catching Kurt Marko's attention.

No, Charles shouldn’t think about that anymore especially while he's focused on communicating with Cain at the moment.

All that mattered was that said woman is safe from any harm now that Kurt is dead. The young telepath has made sure of it.

But it was also that guilt which propelled Charles to try and comfort his stepbrother this instant. As carefully as he could, he melded minds with Cain and applied a soothing touch to quiet down the raging storms inside the other boy. Charles lay there on his own bed located a floor above his stepbrother’s and did his very best to console Cain even though it was the last thing that the boy deserved, given how much he and his father hurt Charles.

But the young telepath knew it was the right thing to do though. What use is having powers like he has if he can’t use them for the benefit of others? And so in an attempt to assuage his own guilt while aiding his stepbrother through the bereavement, Charles projected an image of a loving mother holding Cain close while in bed. This maternal figure was humming a lullaby and rubbing the other boy’s back as he wept into the pillow.

He wanted to tell Cain now more than ever how sorry he was that Kurt had died, but that he was also forgiven by now. And even if the older boy would beat him tomorrow or turn everyone else against him, Charles still wanted to let his stepbrother feel for just a moment that it was okay to be angry and scared like this—because the world just ended and someone you love is never coming back.

Tears stung Charles' own eyes when he realized the enormity of what he could do in having telepathy, and how strong his powers will only get for years to come. He was suddenly afraid of not doing the right things someday. It was possible that his own flawed humanity and weakness of spirit could just easily push him to walk a darker path unless he constantly kept himself in check. But what if he ceased to do that? What if he'll just snap one day just like he almost did earlier at the burial?

Slowly, he released the projection in Cain's mind once he was sure his stepbrother found repose and was presently slumbering in his room. Charles then wiped his tears and tried to get some sleep for himself, but the terror that had taken root in his heart hasn’t dissipated at all. It solidified into a mass and made a home inside the gaps of his own mind where no one else can reach or mend.

Thankfully, when morning came, the boy rose from his bed with a clearer sense of purpose. There was no sense dwelling in the bad when the future isn’t fixed, and Charles could still trust in himself and the goodness of everyone else to hope against the odds and even in the midst of many uncertainties.

I may not be strong all the time, he vowed to himself, but I will always find a way, no matter how difficult, to be kind.

Charles Francis Xavier was five years old when his telepathy was awakened on the eve of his father's accident, and he had to listen to Sharon cry inside her head for weeks and pretend that his own grief is lesser next to hers, all for her sake.

And today, for the first time, he understood conclusively that he is not like the rest of the human race, and that neither Kurt nor Cain could beat the uniqueness out of him with their fists no matter how badly they want to correct the abnormality; his inherent ‘freakishness’.

This was freeing knowledge indeed, because Charles had figured out a lot of things along the way as well.

He figured out that someone out there could be just like him too—a group, a community, or a whole other world he has yet to explore, and that they’re all just waiting for him to find it.

Because the young telepath just knew—in an almost hungry, instinctive way—that he was not alone.

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**[@ANDKINDERSTILL](https://twitter.com/andkinderstill) **

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